


Wet

by literaryspell



Category: White Collar
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Rough Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He'd waited long enough for Neal, after all. Waiting to fuck, to come, was just a game now—and how fun it was when he always won.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ [](http://afiawri.livejournal.com/profile)[**afiawri**](http://afiawri.livejournal.com/) and [](http://tanzenlicht.livejournal.com/profile)[**tanzenlicht**](http://tanzenlicht.livejournal.com/) ♥  
> 

 

Neal echoed Peter's sigh—the first a noise of satisfaction, the other a needier sound of fulfilment. Peter loved how much he knew about Neal just from the sounds he made. Words that passed Neal's lips were suspect; his motivations, if not his veracity, had to be taken with a grain of salt.

Because Neal _always_ wanted something.

"Were you fingering yourself?" Peter kept his tone casual even though it was a strain. Neal's ass was tight and fluttering around his cock, but it wasn’t the usual near-painful clamp that came when Peter slid right home.

Neal was quiet for a moment—weighing his options—before nodding. His hands gripped the bed sheets, and he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, unable to remain still.

Peter had no such problem. He was balls deep in his boy and saw no need to move, not yet. The thing about fucking Neal was that Neal _always_ needed it worse than Peter did. Neal was the instant-gratification type, while Peter was more accustomed to waiting for his dues. He'd waited long enough for Neal, after all. Waiting to fuck, to come, was just a game now—and how fun it was when he always won.

"I thought I told you I wanted you tight, Neal." Peter drove his hips forward and ground the base of his cock against the rim of Neal's ass.

Neal grunted, his body bent over the bed. It wouldn’t be long before he was rubbing his dick all over the sheets—El hated it when he did that. Neal was so _needy_.

"I didn’t want you to break me," Neal said with a gasping laugh.

"What if I wanted to?"

Neal went still and Peter could just about hear his thoughts. A year ago, Neal would have laughed and tossed a smirk over his shoulder, rocking back onto Peter's cock like a dare.

Now, though… Now Neal was his and he knew it.

"Sorry, Peter." Neal was facing the bed, his shoulders a taut line.

Peter ran his hands over Neal's back, the tight muscles there relaxing under his touch. Then he pushed Neal down with a hand between his shoulder blades. Neal was pliant, bending until his chest was against the bed, his face turned to one side. Peter knew Neal would let him shove him face down, hold his head like that while Peter fucked his ass raw, stay like that until Peter told him to go clean himself up.

Still pinning Neal down, Peter withdrew until only the head of his cock was inside Neal. The crown of his prick tugged at Neal's hole, and Neal gave shuddering exhalations as Peter worked the head in and out. Peter knew the treatment embarrassed Neal, knew his cheeks would be red on the outside and bitten on the inside.

"How long have you been hard?" Peter punctuated his question with a deep thrust, bottoming out inside Neal, his hips hitting hard enough to bruise Neal's tender ass.

"All fucking day." Neal rarely swore—Peter had to believe him.

"Poor baby," he crooned, reaching beneath Neal to stroke his cock, just once, too light. Neal jerked into the touch, whimpering when he realized Peter wasn’t after his satisfaction.

Peter watched his cock pierce Neal's reddened hole. There was something so primal about fucking Neal, something so dirty but in the best kind of way. He thumbed Neal's rim, smiling as it grasped his dick every time he pulled back. The need to _fill_ Neal, to _overwhelm_ him hit Peter so hard his cock throbbed. He moved his thumb to Neal's mouth, pressing against his damp, open lips. Neal admitted him without a thought and began sucking on Peter's thumb like it was his dick.

"Good boy." Peter brought his thumb back to Neal's asshole and _pressed,_ holding his thumb against his dick until they slid in together, impossibly.

Neal went completely still, offering only gasps that bordered on hyperventilation.

"Breathe, Neal," Peter said, relieved when Neal followed his instructions and his chest began rising and falling instead of shivering. "You're so fucking stretched. God, you look amazing."

Then Neal started rubbing his cock on the bed sheets and Peter laughed.

"You're such a whore for me, aren’t you? Tell me you're a whore for me, Neal."

Neal groaned and the arch of his back became more pronounced. "I'm a whore for you."

"Tell me what you'd let me do to you."

"Anything, Peter. You know that."

"Yes, I do know." Peter began to thrust faster, wanting Neal to prove his words. "Work your ass for me."

At once, Neal's hole began clenching around his cock and his thumb, tight when he withdrew and looser when he pushed in. It felt like he was sucking the come right from Peter's balls, and Peter didn’t even try to stop it when Neal brought him over the edge. A hoarse shout escaped him as he filled Neal with come, immediate pride rushing into him at the way he'd marked Neal, branded him. Ruined him for anyone else.

Peter's softening cock slipped out but he kept his thumb inside, fucking Neal idly and watching his come make a mess of his crevice. Then he grabbed Neal by the hair and yanked him up. Neal stumbled, weak from the fuck and from being hard for so long—but Peter just guided him into the bathroom. El would kill them if they stained another set of sheets.

"Get in the tub, hands and knees," Peter barked. Something was surging through him and when Neal did as he was told, it only escalated. Neal's back curved down, his ass high and open. His hole twitched and come spilled down his thigh.

"Anything, right, baby?" Peter asked, gripping his cock and stroking under the head to get his flow started.

"Anything," Neal gasped, and he had to know, he had to fucking _know_ what Peter wanted, what he was going to do. He groaned, deep and throaty, when the first splash of Peter's piss hit him on the back of the thigh, mingling with the come there.

Peter sighed—the first piss after fucking was gratifying, but this, this was better. This was perfect. Neal's hips were rocking, his legs trying to spread even as the tub constrained him.

He moved his stream up to Neal's hole, wrecked and swollen as it was. He knew some got inside Neal and the idea thickened his cock enough that he almost couldn’t finish. Last he aimed at Neal's balls and cock, and Neal went tight like he was about to come—but it wasn’t enough. Peter finished and Neal still hadn't come.

Peter stepped out of the tub, taking in the sight that would remain imprinted in his memory forever. Neal on all fours, dripping with piss and come, harder than he'd ever been.

"Finish up and then have a shower. You're a mess." With that, Peter turned and left.

Neal cried out his completion before Peter even passed through the bathroom door.

 

End.


End file.
